


Morally Oral

by Tomstinkerbell



Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston Fandom
Genre: Ageplay, D/s, Daddy Kink, Daddy!Dom Tom, Dominance, F/M, NSFW, Sex, Spanking, Submission, dom!Tom, dominant Tom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 03:12:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5441348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomstinkerbell/pseuds/Tomstinkerbell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom's leaving for Hawaii soon and OFC receives a summons from him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morally Oral

**Author's Note:**

> NSFW!
> 
> This fic contains Daddy Dom kink - if you don't like it, read elsewhere.
> 
> There is also a slight mention of possible non-consensuality in the past.
> 
> Constructive comments/feedback are always welcome.

Satisfaction is not in my nature

Upon hearing Loki's claim - that goes entirely against his nature, which is why I chose it for his text alert - I instantly knew who it was before I looked at it.

Tom.

\- Come fuck me.

 

I really didn't need to be told twice, but I guess he thought I did.

 

\- Or should I say, "Cum & fuck me." Or is that redundant?

 

I had to roll my eyes. Only Hiddleston would use the word "redundant" in an effing text.

. . .

Okay, well, I would, I suppose, if it was appropriate, but still. I wouldn't have bothered using the correct punctuation.

The man knew me much too well for my comfort - he even knew how much word play - and his razor sharp mind - and his razor strop tendencies - got me off.

I was in the middle of a response to him, but apparently I was being much too slow about it for his tastes, because the next thing that popped up my big 6 Plus screen was:

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/121062059@N03/23686631322/in/dateposted-public/)

Along with the caption:

 

\- Where would you like to feel these? Hmmm? Should I guess?

 

And then:

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/121062059@N03/23499365240/in/dateposted-public/)

 

\- What was it you said about this configuration the last time we were together? Something like . . . two in the pink, one in the -

 

I didn't have to read the rest of it - I didn't want to read the rest of it, in favor of answering him.

 

\- Give me a half hour or so.

 

I could see that feral smile of his - the one he only shows to me - in my mind when he read my answer.

 

\- The faster you get here to me, babygirl, the longer I'll have to completely wreck that luscious little pussy of yours.

 

The last thing that came through was a picture of his full blown erection, the root of which he held in his big hand - although his cock easily dwarfed it. That old wives' tale that the length of a man's equipment could be derived by measuring from palm to the tip of his middle finger didn't work with him - his glorious manhood outstripped his middle finger by several inches, and the pic - and my memories of every single detail of it - had my mouth already watering.

He needn't have resorted to that - I certainly knew what he looked - and felt - and tasted - like. I knew he was long and impossibly hard, veiny, uncircumcised, at least ten inches - although I'd hardly taken a ruler to him - and was wonderfully thick, so much so that when he took me - and he did - frequently, with or without my explicit consent because he knew he had the right to do so from my own mouth on more than one occasion - I felt his presence within me - every pussy-splitting inch of him was fucking impossible to ignore - more so than I'd ever felt any man before.

Even this man's cock was a dominant son of a bitch.

It was definitely one of the things - among many others - that kept me coming back to him again and again - one of the things that gave him the cajones to call me at a moment's notice and demand my presence - knowing - with that smug smile of his - that I wouldn't hesitate to come a-running, for him and him alone.

It was more than just sex for us - there was more to us than just that - but that was what it came down to, basically, I guess.

The God's honest truth of it was that I'd never let any other man have so much control over me, to know me - the real, bare to the bone, emotionally stripped and uncomfortably vulnerable me, with - almost - all of my sometimes unusual tastes - to make me quite so much of his little girl bitch that I allow myself become a panting, mindless entity desperate to be with him, someone who had and would wholly abandon the client who was sitting in front of me, who could literally make my career. for the opportunity to be with him, even for just the shortest, roughest, dirtiest of quickies in the back of his car, or the bathroom at an event, or someone's garden, or . . . or . . . or . . .

Which is why I'll never be CEO of my own company.

But then, I'm probably having more - and better - sex than any CEO, and I'm enough of a hedonist that the trade off is more than fine with me.

 

 

I made it to his place in ten minutes, after begging out of a very important meeting, a certifiably stoopid move that was probably going to lose me a paycheck next month, but who needed to eat? The reality for me was that he was going to be gone to Hawaii shortly and I wanted to be with him at every possible opportunity, and he knew that.

Skype sex was absolutely no friggin' substitute for a real Hiddleston pounding.

Nor were my own fingers, or any of the multitude of vibrators and/or dildos I owned.

Hearing him on Skype was nowhere near the same thing as hearing and feeling his greedy growls directly against my clit.

None of them had fingers - long, determinedly - sometimes quite painfully - inquisitive fingers.

And none of them could manhandle me like he did. He might not be wall to wall muscular like Hemsworth, but he was incredibly - deceptively - strong, and he knew how much it got me off that he could simply pick me up and move me - even if I was fighting tooth and nail against him doing just that.

And I had.

And I lost, every fucking time.

But even that Tom Hiddleston did with a certain style - an underlying finesse, if you will, that seemed intrinsic in all of his movements, even the nastiest kind.

I made it to the door in record time - already reaching down to take off my shoes even before he opened it.

"I really wish you'd take the key I keep offering you, darling," he said by way of greeting, but that was it before he grabbed my right wrist and tugged as he lowered his shoulder, catching me in the stomach - making me give a very unladylike "oof" - and lifting me in a modified fireman carry to bring me into his bedroom - crisply swatting my bottom as he took those impressively long strides and making me yelp each time his palm connected with my barely protected bottom - then setting me down on my feet in a manner that was contrastingly gentle.

I made a mental not to always wear something more substantial than a thin cotton sundress when I met him from now on.

"Ow, Thomas, that hurt!"

His grin was wholly unapologetic. "Good. It was supposed to. You cum harder when your bottom is sore and swollen and a dull, angry red."

"I do not!" I countermanded indignantly, still reaching for the buttons that marched down the front of my dress, only to have my hands slapped away.

"Stop immediately!" he ordered in a tone that had me dropping my hands and pouting just a bit at its sharp edge. He put a finger beneath my chin so that I had to meet his eyes. "I prefer to unwrap my own presents, if you don't mind," came his deep rumble.

Easily mollified as I am, I still couldn't help but fish for compliments. I don't know what it is about this man - I'm not usually very needy - but he brought it out in me every time - the need for his reassurance, which he usually provided readily enough.

"I'm your present?"

He gave me one of those stunningly intense looks he could summon at the drop of a hat and, solely because of that, I would have believed him if he had said that he was the President of the World and that he shat puppies and pissed Cristal.

"You most certainly are. You are a truly delicious gift to my eyes and ears and . . . " he took my hand and guided it to where his cock was threatening to compromise the integrity of his trousers, "to every bit of the rest of me."

"Some bits more than others, though, huh?" I grinned, rubbing and squeezing him gently, and he stood there, docile when I knew he wasn't, letting me molest him, relaxing into it in a way I wholeheartedly envied.

The man enjoyed his pleasures something fierce, and I was only too glad to be counted among them.

When he'd peeled back the parts of my dress, gasping loudly - unabashedly - at the sight of my bare breasts before him, he leaned down, and I thought he was going to kiss me - or perhaps them - but he didn't. Instead, he buried his closed mouthed face in my hair while his hands at first drifted with exquisite gentleness over my already excited flesh, fingertips testing just how plump and excited my nipples were, then slapping them hard, right on the nipple, then quickly, sharply to either side, while he held me still by wrapping my hair around his arm, controlling me tightly.

My head was pulled back almost to the point of pain, and again, I thought he was going to ravage my mouth, but instead he stopped millimeters from my lips and whispered, already breathing heavily, "I love watching your breasts as I slap them, seeing my livid red fingerprints all over their creamy whiteness. It's more evidence of just how much mine you are."

His eyes narrowed as if he still wasn't quite sure of the truth of what he'd just said, despite how ridiculous that was. "Are you mine, angel?"

"Yes, Sir," I agreed enthusiastically.

"Good, because I want us to play a game tonight."

My body was on instant alert. He had come up with some doozies in the past. "A game, Sir?"

"Yes. I debated what to call it, but I think I'm going with Morally Oral."

My eyebrows went up. There was no telling what that actually meant, so I waited quietly for him to tell me.

"Tonight, there will be no kissing - no licking, no sucking, none of that. We're going to be chaste in that regard."

I got it immediately. "Morally oral. Very bad."

He was still grinning, obviously quite proud of himself for having come up with that.

But I frowned. "No kissing?!" That was going to be hard. This man's kisses could make me feel like the sluttiest being on the planet, or the most cherished women in the world, alternately.

He shook his head, deliberately teasing me by leaning down even further, his mouth slightly open, as if he was going to defy his own rule, but then his lips just hovered over mine, not doing anything.

This was going to be a horribly frustrating evening, which, of course, was his aim.

"I can't suck your cock?" I asked, truly disappointed at the thought. I loved the power that that act gave me, loved knowing that I was the direct cause of his sighs and groans and, eventually, screams.

"I’m afraid not, little one."

I actually shivered when he called me that, loving the tone with which he said it.

"You'll have to be creative and find other ways to drive me to distraction. But you won't have a problem with that, will you? You're always very innovative."

No one else on the planet could make me blush like he did. Any compliment from him was an immediate turn on - and yet somehow a deep embarrassment at the same time.

Biting my lip, I looked up at him. "And you won't put your mouth on my - "

He was already shaking his head. "Not here," he said, flicking then grasping and grinding my nipple with his thumb and fingers until I cried out, repeating the same painful treatment with the other one, then slowly sliding his hand possessively down my front until it encountered my natural split.

"Nor here. No matter how much you beg me - and how much I will miss your sweet taste on my tongue. My fingers and my cock will have to be enough."

As if I could complain about those!

Tom rose and set me to standing straight, then quickly divested me of the rest of my clothing - which was really just my panties by that point, until I was nude in his arms. Then he did it again - teasing me by leaning down slowly, making me think he's going to press his lips to mine, but stopping frustratingly short of the goal to say, "The one oral activity that you're not prohibited from doing in this game is talking. In fact, it's highly encouraged - even expected."

Still in his blue suit trousers and white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he came to stand behind me, wrapping my hair up into a quick bun to get it out of the way, using one of the many scrunchies I'd left behind here. Then he wrapped his arms around me, his mouth pressed to my ear as his hands touched every part of me, from my fingertips to my bottom cleft, and everywhere in between, dwelling in very sensitive places to tease them, making me lose my breath and dance a bit within the confines of his arms as he palmed my swollen nipples, squeezing my breasts from the underside, and marauding the sensitive area between legs he had forced rudely apart. 

I was - as always - completely unable to stop myself from arching against his hands, trying to find my own fulfillment in my own time, rather than waiting - as I'm supposed to - for him to bestow it on me based on my behavior.

It took a loud smack on my behind to get me to be still, and even then, I was panting raggedly in between loud, agonized groans.

Tom chuckled low in my ear and its deep timbre made me tremble.

"You're so quiet, little one," he said, nuzzling my nape. "Be a good girl and tell Daddy everything you're thinking - everything you're feeling. If I can't have your mouth on me, I want to hear your words in my ears, to feel them breathed across my heated skin."

But his hands were all over me - I couldn't think, much less form the kind of coherent sentences I knew he wanted to hear, even in the midst of passion.

Patience is not one of Tom's strong suits - at least not in a situation like this, where I'm already naked - and all he has to do when I'm not responding fast enough for him is flip me around within his arms, put his foot up on the coffee table and bend me over his knee.

"I gave you an order, darlin'," he said, slipping into Hank a little because he knew it drives me crazy, as he decorated my butt with spanks that singed the flesh beneath them. And his damned hand was so damned big it covered almost all of me in one damned swat! "And I don't aim to wait around until you decide it's time to answer me when you know that I always expect a prompt reply from you."

I bit my lip. I am such a baby with him.

Which is not all that surprising, I guess, because I am little with him, but I have never cried so readily while being spanked by anyone but him. Perhaps it was the combination of the scolding and the discipline, or the intensity of his attentiveness to me, which made me feel somehow even more vulnerable to him because of the idea that this insanely busy man actually took the time to remember what I liked and didn't like - in bed and out. 

I don't know what it is that causes me to lose control of my emotions so readily around him, but it's embarrassing - on top of the embarrassment that’s inherent in being spanked - especially by someone like him, who so obviously knew what he was doing.

"S- Sorry, Daddy," I whimper, sniffling through sobs when he finally stops. Both sets of my cheeks are fiery red because, as always, I'm thoroughly humiliated that I’ve so easily been reduced to bawling, hanging helpless over that muscular thigh of his, my hands useless, blocked by his arm across my back, and knowing full well that, even if I was able to somehow interfere with him disciplining me, that I'd get another - much worse - punishment for having done so.

Not that the impulse isn't there - it most certainly is. He spanks so hard that it's absolutely impossible not to try to wiggle and writhe and slither and arch away from him, but he's much too strong for me to ever be able to accomplish any of that. Instead I am easily held fast for the duration, no matter how horribly long that is.

He helps me up, handing me a tissue so I can blow my nose, then cleaning my face gently and carefully, brushing the tear-wet hair away from my eyes and hugging me tight for a long moment.

"There's my good girl," he pats my back soothingly, but then does the same thing to my sore bottom, not too gently, before turning me around again, my back held to his front.

"Tell me, honey. Use your words," he encourages, rubbing his still cloth covered erection against the flesh he's just scourged.

"My butt is sore!" is the first thing out of my mouth - my little is in the fore and isn't at all shy about voicing her complaint.

Luckily, he is enchanted by her and doesn't take offense at my somewhat whiny tone. "Well, then you know you're a good girl, don't you, and that you have a Daddy who cares enough about you to correct you when you're in need of it."

I can feel his fingers as he reaches down between us to let himself loose, and then that marble hard length begins to brush against my cleft as if demanding entry, and those big hands descend on my hips to hold me still while he explores me with his cock, keeping me tight to him as it rears itself against my bottom, the underside lying between my two roasted cheeks, then it moves downwards, as if it will drill its way between my legs, which are closed at the moment.

"Oh, Daddy, please - don't stop! I love that - I adore feeling you against me like this, all hot and hard and demanding."

I want him to be naked, but he often is not with me, preferring to maintain a certain amount of control and dominance by remaining mostly - almost properly - clothed.

His hands leave my hips, one gripping a breast painfully, and the other yanking my hair back, using his hold to turn my head so that my mouth is at his ear.

"More, baby, or I'll put you back over my knee."

I mewl into his ear in protest at that idea. "My titty, Daddy - stop - it hurts - stop digging your fingers into me!"

One of the first rules of being with him is that Daddy loves bruises - anywhere and everywhere.

"Yes, but doesn't it hurt good, babygirl?" he asks, plucking at my nipples, barely touching them, in contrast to how he had been crushing the sensitive flesh of my breast.

His hand abruptly left my nipple and scurried down - almost furtively - to my mons, and I couldn't help but moan in his ear when his palm finally cupped me there.

"What do you do when your Daddy has your princess parts in his hand or his mouth, little girl?"

I began to do what I knew he wanted me - what I was required - to do.

"No, stop." It was almost a whisper - although a husky one that betrayed just how far gone he already was. "Tell me first. What has Daddy told you to do - what is your rule, baby mine?"

He knew I hated to say things like this, for no other reason than because it was him and I didn't much like saying things like that aloud.

Which was, of course, exactly why he was making me do it. He adored making me blush. I could feel him getting bigger and harder the brighter my face grew.

"S-spread my legs," I answered, as quietly as I thought I could get away with.

"That's right." He sounded pleased with me, and I preened with his approval. "And why's that, littlest?"

"So - so - you can claim what's yours."

"Very good. Now do as I ask."

I put my ankles as far away from each other as they could get without me falling over, using him for balance, knowing that he liked that - me depending or leaning on him in any way.

He wasn't proud. I'm a very independent person, and he'd take the evidence of my submission to him in any way he could get it.

His hand remained right where it had been, cupping me but exploring no further - yet. "Tell me, my sweet, what am I going to find when I let my fingers pry those puffy pink lips of yours apart, hmmmm?" He nuzzled my ear, speaking in a sexily hushed tone, as if we were just having a bit of pillow talk.

"No, Daddy, please don't make me say it," I begged.

"Babygirl," he warned, viciously pinching and twisting one of the lips he'd been talking about.

"I'm wet for you, Daddy," I confessed in a whisper.

I knew that would not be satisfactory, though, but I didn't expect to find myself on the bed, on my back - lying on my still stinging behind even if it was the very edge of the end of the bed. In seconds, my wrists were bound to straps that lived all around his bed and even from a hook centered at the back of the headboard, which was what he anchored me to before he came back to stand between my legs, keeping them apart merely by his presence there, and worse than that - much worse - holding my lips wide open with those damned long fingers of his.

I knew what was coming, but there was no way to prepare myself for it.

No way in hell.

His big, open palm - the one that had tenderized my backside already - gave my most sensitive bits the exact same kind of horribly effective, terrible to endure smack.

Good thing his place was soundproofed, because I screamed.

And then nine more vicious slaps fell on top of that as he asked, sounding almost regretful, "Is that how I taught you to answer me, angel? As if you're ashamed of the way your body responds to me?"

Barely able to answer - and completely unable to soothe myself by putting my legs together or reaching down to cup myself - I somehow managed to marshal my thoughts and say what I knew he wanted to hear, at the volume he wanted to hear it at.

"I'm wet for you, Daddy."

Which, by now, was something he already knew - but he wasn't about to let me off without obeying the letter of his law.

"Yes, you most certainly are, my pretty little bitch," he breathed heavily enough that I could feel the warmth of it on my over-sensitized skin as he sank down in front of me, balancing on the balls of his feet. His eyes flickered up to mine as his fingers sought that which we had been discussing, dipping just the barest tips of his fingers into my slickness, using his other hand to part lips that were really too sore to touch - not just spreading them slightly, but forcing them wide apart, exposing me to him completely, and that little scrap of usually hidden flesh to his greedy fingers. As he began to play me like a virtuoso, he asked, "Do you like being Daddy's pretty little bitch?"

My vocalization was not a word but a wholly animalistic expression of pure pleasure, but I made sure it didn't last too long as my head began to roll violently back and forth on the bed.

"Oh, God, yes, Daddy, please!"

I was already more than half way there - despite the punishment that area had so recently been subjected to - and his fingers were rapidly getting me the rest of the way.

"Would you like to cum, babygirl?" he asked, at the worst possible time, of course, just when things were beginning to build to a glorious crescendo.

"Please, please, please, Daddy, may I cum?" I begged, well beyond worrying about feeling embarrassed about doing so. It was always best to ask multiple times - there was no telling when - or whether - he'd ever say yes.

He continued to brush the pads of his index and middle fingers rapidly back and forth over the very exposed, very vulnerable bit of my clit, which was being forcibly wrenched from beneath its protective hood and subjected to his relentless attentions, which had me hurtling towards my release.

"Not just yet, baby."

I cannot even think of how much I hate being told no at a time like this. My body is ready - surging wildly with the need to implode, and yet I know that what I've suffered so far in regards to punishment will pale in comparison to what will happen to me if I cum without his permission.

So I do my best to back myself down, which isn't easy.

I try to concentrate on him rather than myself, and watched, still sobbing and sniffling, as he released my bonds, then, suddenly, he lifted me from the bed, holding me up on his body just far enough that I could wrap my legs around his waist, positioning himself at the natural entrance to my body and slamming himself into me on a guttural groan as he asked, "Are you mine, baby love?"

"I AM!" I screamed as he penetrated me for the first time that night. 

It never mattered how ready I thought I was for his first possession - I wasn't.

And this time I was so close that just having him inside me set off tremors in that entire area that rapidly transformed themselves into mini-contractions.

And I wasn't the only one effected.

"That's you?" he asked incredulously.

I bit my lip. "I can't control it. I'm sorry, Daddy."

He ignored me. "Just from me being inside you like this?"

I nodded my head, hoping he wouldn't be mad.

"Fuck me," he roared, slamming me up against the nearest flat surface, which happened to be the sliders out onto the deck that's just outside his master bedroom suite. I gasped at the cold length of it pressed against my back, then he caught my jaw in his hand, holding it so tightly it hurt. "Tell me. Describe to me what's happening to you. You can cum, but I want you to talk to me about it."

"Oh, God, Daddy - I - " It would distract me from my true intent, which I knew was one of his goals - to delay my orgasm for as long as possible. And I couldn't not do as I was told without getting into further trouble. "I was - " he began to move within me, pressing me even further against the coldness and I was unable to speak for a long moment " - v-v-very close and - and then - you p-picked me u-up and when you -"

"What part of me," he growled.

"You - your cock - when you sank into me it - it set - set something off inside me and - you're so effing big - you - you stretch me and it hurts a little - I kind of want you out of me but I don't at the same time - it feels so good and bad at the same time being so full of you like this - I can't not - "

"I don't want you to not," I nearly sighed with relief at his rumble while his hips flexed relentlessly, driving him into me, and those entirely too knowing fingers sought and unerringly found what they had been playing with before. "I want you to cum - I want to hear my little girl scream with it. I want to feel you contracting helplessly around me."

And then that fantastic voice of his dropped another full octave, I swear, as he ordered, "Look at me, babygirl. Look at me while you explode around me." 

He held my jaw and neck so tightly I didn't have much choice - he was right there in front of me, sweat breaking out on his forehead, patches of it visible through the fine material of his shirt.

"Daddy, please!"

"Please what, honey?"

"Please, please, please, please!" I chanted.

"Cum for your Daddy, babygirl. Cum for me. Cum for me!" he practically yelled at the end, pistoning himself into me.

It was so big by now - what was building inside me - that I was damned near frightened of the intensity and began to try to shrink from it and him, but there was nowhere to go, and he wasn't about to allow me to avoid it.

"No, no -Daddy - please - no - I - I - I can't - I can't -" I tried to push at his chest, but got nowhere, of course.

And he was simply nodding at me, ignoring my attempts to escape because he knew I wasn't going anywhere until he let me go. "Yes, you can, baby, and you will. It's what I want for you. This is going to happen -"

I couldn't catch my breath, my body was like a runaway train, I could feel everything in me gathering for the storm to come, every muscle straining, surging, tightening -

And then it hit me, destroying me in the midst of its reckless, blissful violence.

"DADDYYYYY!"

I clung to him, to the solidness and safety of him, my anchor in the wreckage of my world, still screaming his name, muscles clamping and clenching around him all on their own, the momentum still building somehow until another crest broke over me and I very nearly collapsed as I felt his release, felt him grasping and grabbing at me, not worrying in the least about the telltale signs of his strength that he would leave on my body.

He rode me out, replacing his cock with his fingers and driving me to so many mindless orgasms that I couldn't even begin to count them, not stopping until he could see that even my body was beyond needing more.

Then, after a long moment of deep, slow breathing, our heads pressed together in the aftermath - I was still too far gone to do much more than babble - but he managed to collect himself impressively quickly - rising from the floor where we'd landed with me still in his arms and walking to his big bed.

He knew me better than to try to go anywhere - at times like this, I was much too raw for that, quite likely to panic if he moved more than an inch away from me - so he simply maneuvered the both of us under the covers, then quickly doffed his clothes around my clinging arms, which couldn't have been easy although he didn't complain about it, then carefully tucked the warm covers in around us, but mostly me, and making certain he had gathered me as close to him as was humanly possible.

My head rested where it belonged - he'd told me that often enough that I was even beginning to believe him - on his chest, arms wrapped terrifically tight around me, stroking my hair every once in a while and almost permanently pressing his lips to my temple.

It took him longer to ask me now than it used to - he had become familiar enough with me that my reactions - my overblown orgasms - didn't scare him like they used to. But he still always asked, in the sweetest, most caring voice imaginable.

"Are you all right, my lovely?"

Knowing he didn't expect me to speak, I simply nodded my head, trying to burrow even closer to him, although it was a physical impossibility at this point. If I got any closer to him, I'd be behind him.

"I'm glad," he squeezed me tight and just held me for the longest time.

"Daddy?" I croaked, voice husky from all the screaming he'd made me do.

"Yes, hon?" he asked immediately.

"Do you really have to go to Hawaii?"

Another wonderfully tight squeeze, and it was mostly Hank that answered me. "I'm 'fraid so, darlin'. But you'll be fine, and we'll chat on Skype and email and text and call each other, and I want you to tell me everything that happens while I'm gone - everything. I can't be a good temporarily long-distance Daddy unless I know exactly what's going on with my little girl."

"Yes, Sir," I agreed, tearing up at the idea of him leaving.

But he was in full Daddy mode, and hadn't yet noticed. "You have all my numbers, right? The hotel, all of my cells? I'll give you my room number as soon as I get it. But you'll be so busy you'll barely notice I'm gone before I'm home again to watch over you."

"Yes, Sir," I replied more quietly, and very choked up.

The moral oral moratorium having been lifted, he kissed my tears away. "Ah, babygirl, you'll be fine. You have your sister coming over, and that'll be tons of fun - and you two'll get into all sorts of trouble, I know, without me keeping a close eye on you. Just try not to get yourselves deported is all I ask."

I knew he was joking to try to make me feel better.

And it was working, damn him.

"And you have a couple of business trips to the continent, and one to Ireland . . . you're gonna be so busy and so successful you're going to find some rich young tech God stud and leave me in the dust."

"NEVER!" I declared.

He chuckled at my vehemence. "Damn straight, or I'd have to crack heads. And smack bottoms."

I reflexively reached back to my own, which had him laughing.

Something I'd thought of earlier, when he'd first mentioned his little game, came to mind again.

"If this is Morally Oral night, is there going to be a Immorally Oral night?"

His grin was pure Loki. "When I get back."

I looked up at him. "And, judging by the rules of this one, that'll be ONLY mouths?"

"Bingo!"

"Count me in!"

He continued hugging me and stroking me soothingly for a while longer, then said, "Time for sleep, babygirl. You know I'll be at you in another couple of hours."

Know it? I was counting on it! I thought, snuggling down into his arms, letting an exhausted sleep overcome me seconds later.


End file.
